Georgetown and the Origins of Bad Timing
by JC-457
Summary: Recently got into the show, and one of the things that really frustrates me is the lack of backstory about Will/Alicia in Georgetown. So here it is, my attempt at giving them a first meeting. Hopefully it's not too horrible, I haven't done this for TGW before.
1. Chapter 1

- The Origins of Bad Timing -

_Georgetown, January 1991_

_Both Will and Alicia are first-year law students_

* * *

"Objection."

Will looked away from the mock-trial-judge-slash-student he was addressing, and at the quiet voice who'd interrupted him.

"Relevance, your honor," she said, still scribbling something across the yellow legal pad as she stood. "Ms. Greenwood's views on baseball have nothing whatsoever to do with her position at work."

First objection of the day. Will was already looking back at the judge, hands out as if to say _what's her problem_? Mock trial judges were usually experienced attorneys themselves, and in this case, he knew "Judge Lowe" from their weekly basketball game - product of a beneficial summer internship.

In response to Lowe's amusement, Will shrugged, a _whatever _kind of dismissal. Judge Lowe winked at Will, and motioned for the opposing counsel to sit down. "Sustained. Mr. Gardner, not baseball, I think."

"Yes, sir," Will said, swinging smoothly to the next sequence of questions. "Ms. Greenwood," addressing a very blond and frequently winking Lauren, "could you please describe Mr. Brown's usual demeanor?"

And the mock trial ground on. Will went for it fast and decisive, whether the snap-change from friendly to adversarial, or the scoffing but boyish appeal to the mock trial judges. He felt good, even though an objection had been sustained. Piece by piece, his case was coming together, a feeling he got in the pit of his stomach, the kind that made him want to punch the air.

"Now how would you describe Mr. Brown's attitude towards you after the events of September 15th, 2011?"

"Objection."

That quiet voice again.

"The events Mr. Gardner refers to are in fact speculative in nature - what Ms. Greenwood describes is her one-sided perception of the matter."

That pen, again, still scribbling. Even while she was addressing the judge, explaining her objection. Her palm tilted towards Will, and an odd twisty feeling started to take over his control. The methodical examination of new acquaintances took on a more personal touch.

Voice: quiet enough to disguise the natural hoarseness at first, rich and dark, like her coloring. Body: the kind of leanness that came from studying too much and ignoring meals, like WIll's parents remarked on whenever he came to visit. Hair and eyes: brown and brown, he guessed. All he could see of her face was the sweep of straight brown hair. Unremarkable. Will told himself it was unremarkable; she was unremarkable.

Judge Lowe looked to him for a response and for a split second he was afraid that he'd lost track of the objection. Mental fumbling, and the response - blissfully - came to him. "Uh - your honor, the case comes down to damages and the proof that irrevocable damage has been done to Ms. Greenwood -"

Then her voice was cutting through his, clean as the _snick-snick _of a blade. "-if Ms. Greenwood was not prone to embellishment, as established by a previous witness's testimony and the entered evidence!"

Lowe raised his hands wearily. Will could see the signs of a hangover and grit his teeth. He was going to cave. Not that she made it hard, starting off demure and courteous, shapeshifting into something elemental and ruthless when she spoke.

After his part concluded, Will knew he was saying "no further questions" and sitting down by his co-counsel (Lee, another buddy), and she was rising smoothly from the plastic chair that scraped when he pulled but made no sound for her.

Circling slowly around the table, taking her time to position herself in front of Lauren, hands folded in front of her. No sign of the pen that annoyed him so much.

"Ms Greenwood, hello," she said, and began her cross.

Will listened, forced himself to pay attention like forcing his head down to his books. The two times he objected were feats enough to make him puff out his chest a little, but smoothly refuted by her. When Lauren tripped up - or more accurately, got tripped up by _her_ - Lee swore loudly enough to distract Lowe for about ten seconds and gave Will the time to scramble for his objection.

When she concluded the cross, Will, for the first time in his mock trial experience, was truly rattled. He knew without a doubt that he'd just fought hard to regain the ground he'd lost to her, and sank back into his chair with the insurmountable sense that the line was slightly, ever so slightly, more in her smooth pale hands.

The final witness - not his - was on the stand now. But instead of taking his notes on the chief examination and helping Lee with objections, he found himself leaning aggressively across the table to his co-counsel.

"Who is she?" he asked.

Lee, who knew Will's taste lay more in bright hair and sultry appearances, looked at him like he was deliberating whether or not to call an ambulance. Will _never _asked for names. Women gave him theirs. It was the product of a decade's effort - effort aimed at convincing anyone who looked at his crisp clothes and smartly cultivated appearance that Will Gardner was not some poor kid from sub-standard schools, but someone worth giving a damn about.

"Her?" Lee said, dubiously. "Cav-something. Cavarnon?

" - Cavanaugh," Will finished for him, remembering the orientation booklet. The straight brown hair - maybe a little less red than it looked to him now - the pale face and dark full mouth, the slight smile, tentative.

Turning away from Lee, he faced her now, as she questioned her witness.

"Alicia," he said, to himself.


	2. Chapter 2

_Georgetown, January 1991_

* * *

**Chapter 2**

_**Alicia**_

"I don't get it, Owen, I really don't," Alicia said, cupping her hand over the mouthpiece of the payphone.

"Hello! Hello! Hello!" Her brother yelled, which Alicia heard perfectly fine, but apparently not him.

"Owen, do _not_ play this game with me – I'm serious – Owen? Owen?"

The quality of the call was scratchy at best, not helped the moron who'd yanked on the telephone cord so much that she had to hold it in place with her other hand.

Alicia felt the – regular – urge to yank her hair out. The day was not exactly going well. As a result of a cheap cellphone: battery drain. Mrs. Terrence, the woman whose daughter Alicia tutored once a week, had an annoying tendency to cancel, meaning she wouldn't know unless she showed up. The mock trial judge hated her and was more interested in playing inside-joke with the opposing counsel – both of them men. Alicia's side did win the mock trial, but with minimal damages awarded. So – a loss.

It would have bothered her, except Alicia was used to growing up in the shadow of attention-grabbing boys. Namely, her brother, who had called her before the cellphone died. Presumably there was a new emergency in the wacky world of her little brother. Despite the excuse for not calling that Georgetown Law had given her – workload, Alicia never stopped checking up on Owen.

She saw someone hovering near her, waiting to use the phone. At least the person wasn't making impatient noises yet, but she still turned away to avoid feeling self-conscious.

"So you're playing hooky," Owen said.

"Am not," she said, slipping right back into her well-worn role of the prim older sister.

"You're calling from a crappy payphone. Are you running away? Is this your swansong?"

"I ran out of battery on my cell," she said, through gritted teeth. "I'm doing big sister duty over here, so help me out, Owen."

"Fine, I'm fine, everything's _fine_, parents are _fine_, you're probably _fine_, that plant outside my window is probably _fine_ too."

"Fine," she said, without thinking, and he laughed loudly. "I'll call you this weekend."

"Mm-hm," he said, affectionately.

Alicia said _bye_ again and hung up the phone. Smoothing down the front of her best red suit, she stooped to pick up her bag, and in picking it up to leave, almost ran smack into someone else. The tip of her nose prickled from the front of his black coat, red plaid scarf draped over the back of his neck like a towel.

"Hi," he said. "Will Gardner."

* * *

Somehow, opposing counsel was walking her back to the dorms. Alicia turned the name over in her head, _Will Gardner_, comparing it to the person who walked beside her. A confident-sounding name; matched its owner. Classy, but not pretentious; a hint of the easy humor with judges and jury, the effortless wink and smile.

Come to think of it, he hadn't exactly said _I'm Will Gardner_, just _Will Gardner_. The instant arrogance of his posture made Alicia press her mouth tightly shut, as though she knew that she wouldn't be making a sound. Something she'd never admit was how much she enjoyed objecting during his questions, as much as she enjoyed surprising the boys who still thought that girls couldn't make an argument outside the Friday night movie rental.

A few months at Georgetown and Alicia was reasonably good at estimating who came from where, and what. This Will Gardner probably came from a better background than she did, drove a better car, studied a lot less but got a lot of better grades. Did it bother her? No. Maybe. A little. She had her moments of self-doubt, human moments that were apparently alien to his breed and race of people.

The confounding part about Will Gardner was the follow-through. Instead of extending an annoyingly confident discourse, he motioned as if their walking together was something completely natural – then said nothing for about five minutes. Not even the low-hanging fruit of the brother-sister payphone call.

Alicia found herself torn between jerky pen-twisting impatience, and the absurd urge to laugh at him, and let that reaction be her answer to whatever he wanted. Humorous inclinations aside, she was very good at controlling herself, and kept facing resolutely forward while they walked.

Will Gardner, Will Gardner…this was turning into unintentional hilarity, a competition in mutual silent treatment. To stop herself from laughing outright, she focused instead on picking up the details of this _Will_, thinking back to both the mock trial and walking side by side – now. A few inches taller, even though she wore her heels, brown hair cut shorter than the fashion, straight nose maybe just a little too large for a narrow face, a natural pout to his mouth that threatened to make her laugh all over again. Stifling the sound into a cough, she shot a sidelong glance at his hand. One was in his coat pocket, the other holding his briefcase. He was pale like she was – maybe he spent more time in the library than she thought.

Alicia saw her secondhand car, parked near the library, under the wilted January trees. Almost time to go, then. Still time to win the bet with herself: that he wouldn't remember. Of course he wouldn't. The way he'd introduced himself – it was like their first time meeting. And, it seemed, the more they walked on in silence, that Alicia was the only one who remembered things differently.

Still four minutes to go. Maybe he'd end up remembering after all.


	3. Chapter 3

_Georgetown, 1991_

* * *

**Chapter 3**

**_Will_**

Will felt his power over the situation drain away – every second he let Alicia Cavanaugh walk beside him and said absolutely nothing. The moment after he introduced himself was burned into the back of his skull.

_Hi. Will Gardner._

Good, strong opening. Will had an imaginary jury wheeling along beside the two of them. There was a woman in the front row, juror number 3, nodding her approval. Juror number 7, more than slightly resembling his buddy Lee, gave him the thumbs up. Confidence equals power, power equals a fun night.

Then – he seized up. After he'd introduced himself, he closed his mouth and jerked his hand awkwardly, like he was trying to sweep an imaginary tablecloth off an imaginary table to end an imaginary bad date. The way she'd looked at him, the slight narrowing of the eyes – she wasn't wearing any makeup – was exactly the expression of juror number 9. The older woman was shaking her head and writing a note: _cocky._ Number 7, trying to salvage the situation, labeled it _enigmatic_. Not spastic.

_Enigmatic._

_Sullen._

_Awkward._

_Idiot._

Will chanced a look at Alicia, but she seemed to be interested in the Georgetown rooftops. Her mouth was turned up at the sides, as though she was trying not to smile at a joke.

Him, obviously.

_Clack, clack, clack_…the sound of their shoes were even more noticeable because of the silence. Will briefly considered walking on tiptoe, but the furrowed brows of the imaginary jury convinced him that the situation was still salvageable. Somewhat. A strong cross-examination could win the jury back, a strong back-and-forth with the witness.

What could he say?

His only opener – ironically about the dismal showing of the current baseball season – was cut off by the sound of Alicia opening her briefcase and removing a set of car keys. Will felt his throat close up again, as she went for the dark green car, obviously secondhand, but neatly kept. He shoved the image of his car – food wrappers and baseballs – out of his head. She didn't need another reason to think of him as an idiot.

"Well, this is my car," she said, clicking the clasp on her bag closed again. "This was…"

He found himself hanging on to the pause – until she laughed. Out loud, sounding so relieved.

"What?" he asked, shocking himself with the sudden return of his speaking ability.

"Nothing," she shook her head, tucking behind her ear the loose hair falling into her face. "I just won a bet with myself, that's all."

Will – immature as it was – felt his whole body perk up with the prospect of a class-wide bet on him. "There's a bet about me?"

"Oh, no, just with myself." She laughed again. "I bet that you wouldn't remember we'd met before." A shrug. "And you didn't."

_What?_

Will Gardner had pretended not to remember one-night stands before, but this caught him off guard. A, they were usually angrier, and B, Alicia didn't seem like the type.

"Was it the Bernstein party?" he said, choosing at random one of the many parties in the dregs of his memory. "Just last week - you were in the pool with Irene?"

"Close," she said. "Try September last year."

Her mouth broke into a wide smile as he put the pieces together.

"Orientation?" he guessed.

"Ten points," she said.

An awkward pause followed, because Will had absolutely no recollection of ever seeing her face outside the orientation booklet, and then in passing as he leafed through for a certain Marcia Garberena. Not in the library. Not even in lectures.

"Don't worry," she said, still smiling. "If I was that drunk, I don't think I would have remembered August, much less little old me."

Alicia turned away, fitting her key into the car lock, and Will knew that his cross-examination was lost with the jury. Not remembering the first encounter – not great. Not remembering because he'd been epically, publicly, wasted – _thanks for playing, and don't come again_. Alicia Cavanaugh was not a party girl, and Will knew it.

Closing arguments now – might as well end on a dignified note. He cleared his throat.

"So you _don't_ know Irene?" he asked, leaning on her car as she yanked the driver's door open.

The look she shot him was skeptical, amused, and pitying at the same time.

"Look, _Will Gardner_, you and I travel in different circles. Well, in my case, a tight orbital with the rare electron or two. You go to your parties, get drunk and do flips into the pool – admittedly with varying degrees of success. I really need this, Georgetown, a good job after graduation, hopefully a lawyer – fingers crossed. So whatever that epic walk of silence was about, I'm not interested in…this _thing_ you're trying to do. Brooding – creepy – I don't know." She took a deep breath. "I'd offer you a handshake, but –" showing him briefcase and keys in her hands, "– as you can see, you've caught me at a bad time. So I think this is goodbye, and you have full permission to forget my name now."

"Hey, I'm not – I mean – this isn't a prank." He felt hopeless, watching her watch him with those dark eyes. But she didn't move, and that encouraged him, the final push to salvage his image, and not come off like an arrogant frat boy. "I really want to say something, I just don't know _what_ to say. You're right, we don't know anything about each other, and maybe we're different, maybe too different. But I'd really like to be able to say _something_, because," He found himself laughing, "this is _not_ me."

When Alicia turned her back to him in response, and it felt like he'd been punctured. But then she turned back, having deposited her briefcase and keys. "Better," she said, with a nod.

"It's Will," he added, "and I would really like to take you to dinner sometime, Alicia Cavanaugh."

A different kind of smile showed on her face now, but instead of making him self-conscious, he found himself mirroring it, so they were both smiling at each other. Two young people in an overcast January afternoon.

Alicia extended her hand – long fingers, no ring – and Will was glad that he'd left Tara's ring in his nightstand drawer. Instead of the handshake, Will found himself enclosing her fingers in his palm, as though he was about to bend and kiss the back of her hand. Then he let go.

"Dinner sounds good," she answered, slipping into the driver's seat.

Will waited until her legs disappeared into the car before closing the door for her, stepping back onto the pavement with his hands in his pockets, scarf flapping in the wind, intending to watch her go.

The window squeaked as she rolled it down. "And Will?"

He leaned forward, trying not to look too expectant.

"It's Alicia," she said, with a tentative smile he knew he wanted to see again.


	4. Chapter 4

_Georgetown 1991, January_

_and_

_Georgetown 1991, September_

* * *

**Chapter 4**

**Alicia**

She'd said yes.

_And Will?_

_It's Alicia._

Alicia knew enough about embarrassing moments to be sure that life rarely gift-wrapped moments for anyone, let alone rectify an embarrassing first impression like Will Gardner.

She laughed again, to herself, remembering the orientation party. In a misjudged attempt to be casually likeable, she'd turned up in her nice black dress worn under a blue Georgetown sweatshirt. The girls walked around with bare midriffs and swimsuits, the guys in swimming trunks or polo shirts. Everyone looked so carelessly confident that she felt herself shrink back internally.

The standard _Hi, how are yous _and _What's your names_ got tiring pretty soon, especially since they had to be shouted over the party music. Hanging around in the shadow of a potted plant, she'd talked to a few girls, the odd boy, and mostly checked her watch. It was an obligatory dance, like awkward formals and proms – the first of many – but Alicia was ready to go. She was tired from moving into the residence hall, college parties were always too _everything_ and in-your-face, and her big-sister irritation was creeping up on her, every second her watch ticked past ten. She'd lent her car to Owen, notoriously irresponsible but very good at puppy-eyed pleading, who'd promised to swing back at ten to pick her up.

At twenty past ten, Alicia poured her drink into a potted plant after checking it was plastic, and started dialing her brother's number.

Line busy.

Snapping her phone shut, Alicia straightened her dress and started to go. Then someone yelled something about pools, and the people standing near the sides of the swimming pool started to jump in. Pool water overflowed in a small wave over Alicia's feet, soaking her shoes. She sidestepped a drunk guy who tried to push her in, and he staggered into the pool instead, resurfacing and shaking his head like a wet dog.

Cheers, the twang of a diving board, and a huge splash as something hit the pool. More water slopped out from the sides as the diver lurched out of the water, around ten feet away from the board.

_Great._

Alicia blew her breath out, very slowly, as people started doing jumps into the pool. Not very good ones, anyway, but she didn't think it was fair to dock points for drunk-diving. Resigning herself to waiting until Owen decided to turn up, Alicia sagged against a wall, poured herself another drink, and watched the procession of increasingly ostentatious drunk maneuvers.

Then, amazingly, silence fell as another person tripped onto the diving board. Very clearly drunk. She recognized the shirt – he'd almost pushed her into the pool.

"Go, Will!" someone yelled.

Holding up his hand for silence, he raised the bottle in his hand and bellowed:

"I'm king of the world!"

"Oh boy," said Alicia, hand on her forehead.

"Yep, he's always like that," said a young woman, apparently out of nowhere. She smiled at Alicia, switched her beer bottle from one hand to the other so she could shake Alicia's. "Cassidy," she said.

"Alicia."

"Not much for parties, are you?" she observed, tipping her bottle at the dress-sweatshirt combination, but in a frank way that Alicia liked.

With fortunate timing, the same guy was back on the diving board. Again, waving his arms for silence, he tried to do a backwards flip into the pool. Alicia winced at his efforts, but everyone else was hooting and cheering for him.

"Not orientation parties, no," said Alicia, as his head broke the surface and he emerged, laughing.

Cassidy snorted at him, and ruffled her head of black curls with a sigh. It was effortless and charming at the same time, like the glamorous senior girl in any school, the one who'd always looked down her nose at Alicia.

"If you can see through Will Gardner, you can see through the other Georgetown assholes. Trying to make out like they have family money and a job waiting for them instead of student loans to pay off. You get me?"

Alicia only smiled, and it felt like her face muscles had tensed up. Scaring off yet another potential friend. She was tired of being stiff and polite and smiling – she hated that it usually came at the end of a long day, when the tiny socializing part of her brain had already thrown in the towel.

"You know him?" she asked, because it was the only thing she could say that didn't broach the subject of student loans – _her_ student loans. Which she disliked talking about, because it felt like whining. Little brothers could whine; her job was to listen.

"Who?" Cassidy blinked. "Oh, Will? He hit on me an hour ago. Not great with talking, that one."

Alicia felt her phone buzz against her leg. Snapping it open, she got Owen's harried, still-pretending-I-wasn't-late-just-round-the-corner statement that he was outside the house.

"Sorry, gotta go," she said to Cassidy.

"Gotcha," said Cassidy. "A decent date's probably better than this. Maybe I'll see you around." A wink. "Nice meeting you, Alicia."

Unbothered, Cassidy melted into the crowd, while Alicia set her drink down on a table. Her phone buzzed again – Owen. God, he could be impossible. Phone to her ear, Alicia turned away from this Will Gardner, poised to do yet another flip into the swimming pool. That was one name she wouldn't mind forgetting.

* * *

"Alicia?" said Harriet, the girl she was tutoring in history and math. Alicia realized that she'd trailed off while she was meant to be grading a practice essay.

"You're smiling funny," Harriet grumbled. "That's how my mom looks when my dad calls home."

Alicia said it was Harriet's handwriting that made her stop, and prodded her back to work. Would telling Will that she first thought of him as a wet dog a good idea? That was probably why she'd gotten the look on her face. Still, she liked the _funny_ kind of smile, the one that wasn't stiff and board-like, the one she had when she was thinking of Will Gardner.


	5. Chapter 5

_Georgetown 1991, February_

* * *

**Chapter 5**

**Will**

Will was seriously thinking about getting his eyesight checked out, or at the very least, cutting back on the late nights. It seemed like sleep deprivation was the only plausible explanation for him to _not_ have noticed Alicia Cavanaugh around Georgetown.

Ducking out of the library as he was walking in, passing his usual place at the back to her seat in the middle of the classroom, just ahead of him in the corridor, laughing at something a friend was saying. Cassidy McAllister - a name that rang a vague-sounding bell, probably because he'd met her drunk at a party. Point negative for Will Gardner.

The explanation had to be that his eyesight was problematically selective.

Not that he had basically overlooked her for the better part of six months.

But she was always a tantalizing flash of pale skin – the side of her cheek, her hair hiding the curve of her neck, or a reddish-brown head just in front of him, gone in a blink. It seemed as though Alicia Cavanaugh always had somewhere else to be.

The invitation to dinner hovered in front of Will like heat haze whenever he saw her, but somehow he never managed to catch her for more than a brush-past, not even to get her phone number. Yelling after people in the corridor was something Will Gardner didn't do.

What was going on in the mind of Alicia Cavanaugh?

There was a place Will really didn't want to go, which was a run-through of the Georgetown girls who knew him – the casual dinners and after-dinners that fizzled out like a glass of lukewarm coke left overnight.

Maybe she was just busy. He hoped that she was just busy. Somehow he didn't like the idea of her finding out – talking to _the_ girls, her expression getting more and more still as they talked.

There were rumors floating around, of Alicia and Peter something, the all-around charmer from the year above. Other rumors too, different guys. But Will had been to the bars and not once did he ever see Alicia there. She was unattached – she'd given him the impression that she was unattached. But then again, so had he, and it wasn't exactly the truth. The ring was still in his nightstand, easy to slip back onto his finger if he went home to visit.

As midterms loomed, Will started ditching the usual basketball games to get to the library earlier. Lee was alarmingly blasé about his grades – family money, more pressing engagements of the recreational kind – so that left Will on his own, which was how he liked it. When he wasn't keeping up the Will Gardner façade, he found it easier to become someone harder working and more honest, to admit that he did care, and he did want to do well.

It was more of a happy coincidence that because of the earlier study sessions, the more likely he was to see Alicia. Usually in a corner table, writing quietly, peeking at the book alternately. He never approached her, sensing that she, like him, was more comfortable being alone than with anyone else.

One day, he strolled into the library just after five, expecting to see her at the table. She wasn't there. He sat at his normal vantage point; where the table she usually sat at was within view – curiously empty. But he'd never been someone who felt comfortable doing nothing, so he bent over his work and pushed everything out to the side.

Will went through his notes systematically, pulling a reference or two from the books as he worked. Five bled into six, which bled into seven, and eight. Still no sign of Alicia. Soon, he was the only person left in the darkest part of the library. The reading lamp was too close and burned his tired eyes with a hot yellow glow. He switched it off, but the heat from the bulb still radiated onto his skin. Close to admitting defeat, Will leaned back in his chair and sat in half-darkness, eyes closed. There was a steady ache behind his eyes that he remembered his father complaining about constantly, now his own.

Idly, he let his eyes wander to the table across the library. Shadow and silence, nothing but a desk. It gave him an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach – a kind of ache that spread slowly up to his lungs, his heart, his mouth. Cold and vaguely bitter, like he had an old penny under his tongue.

What was he doing?

In darkness, Will sat, trying to work out whether he was waiting for someone who wasn't coming, wasting his time, or just needing a drink. When the answer didn't come, he decided to do a test. He felt around in his pocket, took out his phone, scrolled through his contacts until he found the number, and pressed 'call'.

A person as lonely as hell, counting the rings until his girlfriend answered. Will didn't know what he felt, hearing her voice. It was something like relief, knowing that he still had someone to talk to. But it wasn't happiness either.

Still.

"Tara?" he said, "It's me."


	6. Chapter 6

_Georgetown 1991, February  
_

* * *

**Chapter 6**

**Alicia**

"Peter Florrick," said Cassidy.

Alicia shook her head. "Nope."

Cassidy was obviously disappointed. "Bill Schaffer?"

"One drink."

"Andy Michaels?"

Alicia only wrinkled her nose for_ no_.

"Disappointing, Cavanaugh. Disappointing," said Cassidy, leaning forward to pick up one of the wine bottles. Alicia picked up the coffee mugs and held them out to be refilled, careful not to let it get on her bedspread or the study material fanned out around them. They were playing the rumor game. Cassidy heard back from her shadowy sources the latest gossip and ran them by Alicia because it was funny to see how graduate students could spin stupid stories from the most innocent things. A walk with a certain person became a power pairing, a smile exchanged at a student event became campus news, so on, and so forth. It wasn't that Alicia Cavanaugh was a name to know, it just happened that she ran into people with eyes on them. Famous, or infamous both. She was used to having it blow over, once they realized she wasn't someone who cared.

"How's everything at home?" Cassidy nudged a pillow into a more comfortable pose, settling in like a petted cat. She liked Alicia's room – it was always neat and everything felt productive to her. They were better friends than Alicia ever thought they'd be, given how easy socializing came to Cassidy. But they worked well as study partners and Cassidy made Alicia laugh with the gossip during rest periods. She knew how to take life like the joke it was, while Alicia treated everything in life like a challenge or a funeral notice. A refreshing clash of attitudes she'd never expected.

But it also meant that they knew what was going on in each other's lives, how Cassidy's boyfriend was dubiously faithful and how Alicia's parents were getting divorced.

"I drove home today," said Alicia. "I think they've passed the screaming phase, now it's the joys of territorial annexation."

"Sounds awful," Cassidy said. "Did you get Owen out of the middle?"

"Owen's all right with avoiding the crossfire. He makes jokes, insensitive jokes, but it's better if they're both mad at him instead of squabbling over him. I think." Alicia was feeling buzzy from the wine; unsure whether her brother's sense of humor was well timed or just morbid.

They both laughed as Alicia described how her mom had duct-taped a line running down the center of the house – marking her side of the property. It somehow included the television, dining room and silverware, which started another fight, and another, and another. Alicia got out of there in time to have her dinner alone, in her car, outside the Georgetown library. She missed her regular studying session, but that was what Cassidy came for anyway.

At the back of her mind was the idle curiosity about Will Gardner – if he'd noticed she was gone, or finally got tired of her rushing ahead of him. Dating was on – what felt like, at least – a long-term hiatus. With the icy silences and shrill arguments from the parental side, she didn't exactly have rosy expectations for burgeoning romantic attachments. Not that Will was a romantic attachment, but at some point Alicia thought he could have been. She'd heard too much from the girls who'd gone out "to dinner" with Will Gardner – backlash from the apparent interest he'd taken in Alicia after the mock trial. At least she had an excuse not to go to practice now that midterms were coming up.

Drinking wine in coffee mugs was reserved for low points during her study sessions and post-parental visits. Coffee was what she drank to make herself not be pathetic. Wine was what she drank when she _wanted _to be pathetic. It was her wallow drink. Made it easier to talk, too.

"Remember when you called Will Gardner a jackass?" Alicia said.

"If I recall, the term I used was _asshole_, but go on. What about him?"

"Were you serious?"

Cassidy swallowed a mouthful of wine. "Why the question, Cavanaugh?"

"I feel weird for avoiding him."

"He has to have figured out that you checked up on him by now. You don't live on a desert island – he's dated, like, two of our friends."

Alicia nodded at the point she was making. "You're right. His girlfriend."

"What kind of guy doesn't have the decency to let someone down easy, goes away to law school and starts banging co-eds?"

"I'm guessing an asshole."

"E-xactly." Cassidy was getting tipsy too. Alicia chuckled to herself, finding the thing with Will very funny.

"Peter seems like a better choice, doesn't he?" she said, quietly.

"Florrick?" Cassidy looked up at the ceiling, considering her wealth of gossip insight. "Decent guy. Doesn't whore around much."

"Compared to Will Gardner?"

"Look, Cavanaugh," Cassidy said, setting down her coffee mug with finality. "If you wanted Will Gardner you would have given him your number a long time ago, and we'd be having a more abusive conversation about his large nose. _But_, you didn't. So my advice is: date someone like Peter Florrick, not Will Gardner. Unless you're sure you can break his heart before he breaks yours."

"Break Will's heart?" Alicia muttered, wrapping her hands around the mug. She considered it, and shook her head. "Wouldn't know. Not much experience in the heart-breaking area."

"It's not the kind of experience you want on your CV," Cassidy said, softly. Alicia knew why she was sure, and reached for the bottle to pour her more wine.

"Not Will Gardner," she said to Cassidy.

"Peter Florrick," said Cassidy, with a knowing smile.

Alicia didn't say anything.


	7. Chapter 7

_Georgetown 1991, March_

* * *

**Chapter 7**

**Will**

_You have 2 missed calls._

Tara…Tara again. Will dropped his phone into the bottom of his briefcase, dropping a notebook on top of it. She was probably calling about spring break plans, and Will wasn't exactly in the mood to talk about sun and the beach – given the fact that there was more than two weeks to go. He groaned quietly at the thought of another mock trial coming up, meaning more time indoors. The last time, with Lauren as co-counsel, had been absolute hell. Jumpy work punctuated by her detours into tangent conversation…and feminism.

_Feminism._

If there was an excuse for college girls to whine about tight clothes objectifying the female body and somehow still expect him to pick up the dinner tab and open doors – feminism was the buzzword for double standards. Instantly, though, Will curbed his irritation with the reminder that Lauren was not exactly the defining standard for a perfectly legitimate branch of ideas – given how she had the pluperfect aptitude for soaking up exactly 30% of everything she heard, somehow the least useful parts.

Lee knocked on Will's desk to remind him that the new assignments were being posted on the board. Jury, lawyer or witness, defense or prosecution, friend or opponent. Will listened to Lee debate the highs of having a pretty witness versus a pretty co-counsel on the way to the board.

The whole freshmen class seemed to be crowded around a tiny slab of cork, the four-pinned sheet of paper looking miniature by contrast. Cassidy McAllister was, as usual, ahead of him. He accidentally jostled her, in the crush of people, and she spun around, almost whacking him in the face with her hair. He put on his usual Will Gardner smile, but the look she shot him in return was one he imagined she used when confronting a sub-standard toilet.

After she left the crowd, he watched her high-five Malcolm Brewett, her co-counsel for defense, trial one. Formidable pairing, which led Will to suspect that his professors were matching them up by grades. Thankfully, he'd pulled up his grades since the midterm, which meant that he had a decent chance of decent co-counsel. He craned his neck to see over the heads, and searched the list for his name.

It was Alicia Cavanaugh's name he saw first, prosecution for trial three. Almost unthinkingly, he looked to the right of her name for the co-counsel.

_Will Gardner._

"No shit," he said, way too loudly. Then he started looking around for Alicia. There was no way she'd miss this – a fearsome trial reputation was impossible to keep without being on top of everything.

Will shouldered his way out of the crowd and stood off to the side. He ran a hand down his face, back to the wall. Alicia was his co-counsel. Sometime after that night in the library, that the thought of Alicia Cavanaugh was often accompanied by a sense of deflation, an idea shot down before it even materialized. Be rational, calm and rational. A stupid idea. Almost by mutual avoidance, they hadn't spoken since he asked her to call him Will and then watched her drive off.

He probably stood there for too long, because when he blinked, maybe ten minutes later, he was alone in front of the board. The rest had gone to find their partners for the trial. He scanned the hallway, a lack of focus sharpening into the realization that a familiar figure was hurrying towards the board.

Alicia was so busy trying to fit her books into her bag that she walked right past him. Her hair was stuck in her coat collar, ignored, one finger on the list, checking for her name. Will noted the backward tilt of her head, a slight jerk, when she found the printed name – his or hers. All this, he was pleased to find, with a curious sense of detachment. The more volatile feelings had evaporated, and what remained was something more tangible, weighing him down with a sense of what felt like confidence.

"Cavanaugh," he said, and she turned.

"Hi." One hand working her hair out of the coat collar. "We're co-counsel," she said.

The wariness in her stance did not go unnoticed, but Will knew how to put her at ease.

"The dream team," Will answered, "We'll knock them dead."

Alicia laughed and, as though they weren't talking for the first time in a month, walked with him to the teacher's office to pick up the case information.

"So how've you been?" she asked.

They were standing in the library stacks, looking up precedent cases. Will was leafing through references on toxicology reports, wishing he had a magnifying glass for the print.

"I've been seriously considering the prospect of glasses, but other than that, not much. You?"

Alicia laughed with her mouth closed. "You're not getting off that easily. How's Tara?"

Will looked up at the ceiling, then at her. She was looking at him over the top of a book, eyebrows raised.

"Back home," he said. "So how'd you find out?"

"Here and there," she answered, flipping a page.

"McAllister?"

"May-be."

Beats of silence, punctuated by the soft swirl of pages turning, like the sound of fall leaves.

"So," Will said, hating the fact that he managed to make it sound like two syllables. "Peter Florrick."

"Mm, Peter Florrick." Half-listening, Alicia frowned at something on the page.

"True or false?"

"Neither." Her voice was teasing now. "Insufficient evidentiary support."

Will smirked. "So how'd the rumors start?"

"Oh – oh," Alicia widened her eyes at the book. "Found something."

_Of course._ Perfect timing. Will marked his place in the book and crossed over to her. She'd kicked off her shoes and was standing barefoot, which made it easy to look over her shoulder. Alicia tensed when he leaned in, but Will pretended not to see.

They talked all the way out of the library and claimed an empty classroom for their trial prep. Alicia had the unconscious habit of bouncing nervously on her heels as she talked, which made their discussion of the case an odd migration of sorts, leaving open books, files, and notes across the unused classroom like a trail of their thoughts.

Will loved it. He loved having a sudden thought that made him race across the table to get at a reference. He loved scribbling a case line on a pad and brandishing it like a thousand-dollar check. He loved that she shouted ideas at him, and he could shout them back. This was how friends misbehaved, and he was fine with them misbehaving together.

An immeasurable number of coffees later, they were sitting side by side in uncomfortable classroom chairs, each re-reading separate notes on the fictional case. The minute hand on the wall clock was inching close to ten P.M., a solid six hours since they'd started in the library stacks. Both of their shirts were untucked, Will's sleeves rolled up to his elbows and Alicia's the same. She was barefoot with her feet resting on a chair opposite her, crossed at the ankle as she read silently.

Will finished the sentence he was writing, paused, and decided to say it.

"Don't worry, Cavanaugh," he said. "We're good."

Alicia rested her head on her fist and smiled at Will. "I agree."


	8. Chapter 8

Hey guys, sorry for not updating for a while. It's still going to be sporadic because of exams, but I suddenly got in the mood. Probably going to introduce young Peter Florrick soon, yay.

* * *

_Georgetown, 1991_

* * *

**Chapter 8**

**Alicia**

"So what you're saying is," Will said, "you weren't being deliberately malicious by informing Mr. Morrisson of his wife's affair?"

Alicia's notes trailed off, the nib of her pen resting absently in a spreading blotch of black ink. Will's prosecution style made Alicia sit more and more uncomfortably in her seat. It wasn't an ineffable hunch, the kind of instinct that something wasn't right, because she'd seen him in the mock trial. Working with him on the groundwork alone had made her forget that Will as a prosecutor was fearsome…for the wrong reasons. He was direct, which was good, but never got an answer he didn't want because he didn't allow a word more. And the opposition's leading witness was a woman, as well as theirs.

Alicia imagined how a female jury would see it, see Will. Boorish, arrogant, aggressive. Their main witness was a female doctor, and other women would dislike seeing a female professional humiliated by a male lawyer. Good for them, if the defense did what Will was currently doing, but if his current style even remotely resembled how he would be treating the opposition's witness, they were in trouble.

"Wrong tone," she muttered to herself. Will was using the wrong approach.

But it was just witness prep. He was pretending to be the opposing counsel, and they wouldn't be kind. Did she want to rock the boat, after the usually dreary research and case prep turned out to be more enjoyable than she'd expected?

Alicia was used to waiting and observing. She cleared her throat, audibly. But only after Will had finished with his main line of questioning.

"Maybe we should take a break," she said, tugging absently on her earlobe.

Will looked at her with raised eyebrows for only a second, then turned his back and made a show of rearranging his materials.

Their witness, an impassive brunette named Kate, blinked nervously at Alicia when she failed to catch Will's eye.

"You've done a great job," Alicia added, hastily. "I think we can break for lunch, maybe meet back here in an hour?"

Will only turned back to face Alicia after the classroom door shut behind Kate. Arms crossed, he leaned against the heavy table and waited. He was almost frowning, but not really. Alicia couldn't really read him, but knew that she had to choose her words carefully.

"You're prepping Kate for cross really thoroughly," she said. "But I just want to check how you're planning to cross-examine their witness."

Will, to her relief, seemed to know what she was talking about. "Too harsh?"

"A little too _Scarlet Letter_."

"The jury's is mostly going to be men," he said.

Alicia waited for something else to follow, but nothing did. "And?"

"Well, they're more likely to believe the _scorned woman_ act."

She felt like she'd missed a week's lectures, somehow, and was coming back completely unaware of the imaginary dots connecting A to B. "So?"

Will shuffled, finally unfolding his arms. "Any man who's had an affair is terrified of a mistress who goes behind his back to contact the wife. That happens to be their witness. I want to use that."

"Hold on." Alicia re-crossed her legs, felt uncomfortable in her chair and finally got up altogether. Will watched her patiently, still leaning on the table. Turning back to face him, she felt, oddly, like laughing. "Do you want to explain how you know this?"

Will shrugged. "It's instinct, all right? I may or may not have been in that position, and I know what I'd be like if she –"

"– Your proverbial mistress," she couldn't resist saying.

He laughed, and Alicia almost smiled, but she felt jumpy and mechanical all at the same time, like she had to approve the smallest actions her body used to decide autonomously.

"I'm a man and I have a good feeling that it's the right strategy."

"Character assassination shouldn't be the first strategy there is. Their case has plenty of flaws we can win, with logic, with a good cross that gets the holes in their story, not…" Alicia searched for a word she was all right with saying. "…_shrew making_. We're not going to win taking a risk like that."

"Maybe we won't win if the jury doesn't like it, but I'm willing to bet they will."

"What about the actual case itself? Shouldn't we build on that instead of just presentation strategy?"

Will looked like he wanted to pat her head, which she would have swatted away immediately. Instead he ran a hand through his hair with frustration, making it stick up oddly. "Look, I understand that your style is the cutthroat cross, but I work with character and impressions as much as the actual casework."

"Will, I'm saying that I'm not comfortable with you acting like a chauvinist."

"I'm a man, by definition there's chauvinism."

"Then let me do the cross. That way it won't look like shaming."

"But it'll look like a catfight."

Alicia made sure her mouth was tightly closed. She was very aware of her position in seeming direct opposition to Will's. She was perched on the edge of a table, her shoes kicked off, feet crossed at the ankle as they talked. He was leaning against the opposite desk, hands in his pockets and waiting for her to respond. They stared at each other for a long moment, both not saying a word.

"Look, I get that you want to win," said Will, holding up his hands. "But I don't believe in the straight-line strategy. Every case should take risks, and I think this should be ours. If you're just fixated on winning, everything's going to look risky, and stupid. Take your eyes off the prize for a second and think about how you're going to get there – is all I'm saying."

A valid point. Alicia knew she wanted to win the mock trial because her professors would be watching. She knew that the beauty of a victory could elevate her, out of range from the white-collar boys who grew up in gated mansion communities. Through careful, deserving wins, she had built up a reputation for herself. A reputation as the best in their class – something Cassidy was gleefully knowledgeable about and kept her thoroughly informed. It was, Alicia reflected, probably not going to be the first time that they had their differences over upbringing. Although Will was privileged beyond what she'd ever experienced, sometimes she caught glimpses of the same kind of thirst she had – winning, validation, promising signs that he was as driven as she was. But then there were times when he took unnecessary risks and reminded her that he had less of an instinct to tread carefully. For him, there had always been other chances, nothing major, but for her it often came down to the single moment – after which there was never anything equally shiny, waiting somewhere on a new shelf.

This feeling, this reminder of _different-ness_, was what kept a screen between her and Florrick. She'd take a few steps back, a few steps up, because of this feeling. Will and Peter had flashes of each other – preliminary deductions only.

Alicia often wondered if life increasingly became a perverse curve, oscillating between moments when everything was going quite wrong to much, much, worse. Because there was a knock on the classroom door and Peter Florrick was suddenly looking for her.


	9. Chapter 9

_Georgetown 1991_

* * *

**Chapter 9**

**Will**

An audible snap.

That was what it felt like to Will. For an instant, they were on opposing sides of a miniature conflict, the next, teetering towards laughter, then anger on Alicia's part, and now – hanging.

Because Peter Florrick somehow found Alicia Cavanaugh.

"Peter," said Alicia, sliding quickly off the table and snatching her shoes off the floor.

Will waved one-handedly at Florrick, and received a nod of acknowledgment in return. They'd never really spoken. He was all black hair and tanned bronze, the kind of easy swagger Will associated with beaches and outdoor sports like soccer. Swagger.

Alicia grabbed his shoulder momentarily, to steady herself as she was climbing back into her heels. She released him in a second and started up the aisle towards Florrick. Will refrained from making a snide inward comment about Florrick's shoes or his mannerisms, as Alicia promised to be back in a bit. She didn't specify how long.

Will found himself facing empty chairs and messy tables strewn with papers, notepads and loose papers covered with two kinds of writing so randomly mixed that they seemed almost identical. He picked two pages up, comparing the differences between their handwriting. Both wrote in black pen, both had the tendency to spike their letters, but Will was left-handed, and that was how he could tell who had written what. But other than that, their writing looked so alike that sometimes he went back to his dorm room with the wrong set of notes, with letters that leaned right instead of left.

Five minutes ticked by. Will was still leaning nonchalantly against the edge of the table. Ten minutes. He circled the table, made his way around the chairs. Florrick would be taller than Alicia, and talk to her looking down, a fist against the wall as he leaned in. She would have her arms crossed, head tilted to the side. They had to be intimate. Florrick was a year above them and a high-flier. There was a rumor that he'd got himself on the shortlist for some big-time job after graduation, even though it was a year in advance.

Will briefly wondered if he ought to order pizza, or at least pretend to so that he could poke his head out of the room and break up their intent conversation. Rapping his knuckles against the table surface, he thought the better of it. Too obvious. Pizza – too casual. Uncomfortably so.

Why was he so goddamn unnerved by Florrick?

Will tried reading some of the case files, gave up, and picked up Alicia's forgotten notepad with a weird ink blotch marking the end of her notes. She wrote neatly, unlike his tendency to doodle or accidentally poke his paper full of holes.

He snorted when he got to the last part – she'd written _CHAUVINIST_ in big block letters and underlined it. Maybe she did have a point. He noticed her squirming the further he got in his cross, and she never squirmed. The idea of them at odds with each other, same-side counsel, was not something he wanted during the preparation stages. And prep had gone so well too.

A glance back at the door. What the hell was Florrick saying to her?

Will dropped Alicia's notepad and settled instead for watching the seconds tick by on the clock. Steady. Remember Will Gardner. Imagine meeting Florrick for real. Shaking his hand, sensing the immediate coolness of the grip, Alicia looking on.

_Goddamn it._

Florrick was the class of people Will integrated with easily, taught himself how to mix with. Gardner Senior was not a rich man, ran his business into the ground, leaving Will to sweat over books for a scholarship while balancing outward nonchalance. Pretend, pretend, pretend. Unflappable confidence was how he'd subtly persuaded them to accept him, because they were always to be swayed, never the ones doing the chasing.

It was a rare kind of bird that they pursued. The persuasion in question came from an ineffable quality, something like contempt for them. Not quite contempt, but the assurance that they _were not better_, the rich kids. They were not better because they could be beaten. Will could always tell himself that, but he knew that Alicia was the real deal from the way Florrick pursued her. Florrick pursued her for the same reason any man would, he thought. To prove to themselves that they were worth it, worth this strange, ambitious, Cavanaugh girl's attention.

* * *

Peter Florrick in the next chapter guys. Sorry if it'll take a long time to update, but please keep reading. I'm not giving up on Will and Alicia for a while.


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